


All Day, and All of the Night

by XVettes (JordStarrr)



Category: XV de France
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 06:35:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordStarrr/pseuds/XVettes





	All Day, and All of the Night

 It was December 23rd. Almost a month since they'd parted ways after Samoa. Already. 

 

 

The world hadn't ended, of course, and Brice had been secretly relieved - he hadn't really believed that it would, but he would have regretted it if he hadn't had a chance to tell Maxime how he felt. Maxime. Stubborn, insensitive Maxime. Maxime, who'd washed every last trace of Brice and their last night from his skin that Sunday morning; Maxime, who hadn't given him so much as a backward glance on his way out, Maxime, Maxime, Maxime.   
   
   
A choked-up "See you, then." A hug that lasted five seconds too long. That was Max's idea of affection. Brice had felt choked-up too, but it was pointless trying to articulate that to a closed-off Max. He had fought back his tears all the way home, all the way until the door was safely shut behind him and he could cry into his pillow alone. He felt ridiculous, but hadn't been able to stop himself somehow.

 

 

They'd barely spoken since that Sunday, and when they had, it was of light, easy things, with some unspoken thread of tension drawing a line under their every word. Brice found himself feeling angry. He had waited and waited and waited some more for Maxime to admit that what they were doing meant something, or even to admit to himself that it was happening at all. He'd spent too long pining after him, far too long; he felt frustrated by Maxime's complete refusal to let him in - to his bed or to his soul. He was sick of it; sick of waiting, sick of Maxime only coming to him when he was drunk; or biding his time until they were both so exhausted they could barely keep their eyes open before crawling into Brice's bed and burrowing into his chest; or scrambling across in the middle of the night and wrapping a still-warm arm around his waist. He let him, every time; he'd spent too long pining after him - any of Max seemed preferable to nothing at all.   
 

 

That was the problem. He was so pathetically grateful for any attention Max gave him. He hadn't had a crush this bad since he'd left school, but there was just something about Maxime that drew him in even when he tried to resist it. The jumbled tufts of his hair that never seemed to sit in the same way twice, his childish giggle, the way he clung onto Brice when he was drunk and flat-out refused to let him go. The feel of his clumsy, alcohol-fuelled fingers on Brice's hips, the pinch of his teeth on Brice's neck, fuck, why hadn't he just told him? Or did he know, already? Did he rely on Brice's feelings for him to always be there whenever he might want to take him up on them? Probably. He was a fool; waiting around for him. Had it really been worth it? He missed his best friend, who'd all but disappeared since the first time they'd woken up together. Maxime with all his confidence had tried to bluster through it, until he realised he was stark naked and wrapped around Brice like there was no tomorrow. Brice liked it in the mornings when Max was still half-asleep, before his walls went up, and he'd nuzzle Brice's neck and pull him even closer and Brice could pretend that Max loved him, really loved him; not just wanted him for a while when no one was looking.   
 

 

"Would you just let me like you," he'd whispered more than once to a sleeping Maxime. "The world won't end because you like another man, Max." Maxime would usually mumble something in his sleep and burrow into Brice's chest, and Brice would try to remember how wonderfully content that made him feel because in the morning he'd be wondering if it would ever happen again. Even after three weeks of sneakily sharing Brice's bed in Paris, Maxime would still pretend to everyone else that they weren't together. Brice suspected they knew anyway, but no one had ever spoken to him about it. Maybe he should challenge him, find out one way or the other, or at least tell him he wasn't going to make do with the little Max was willing to give him. Maybe after Christmas; maybe in the new year. There was a chance they'd be sharing a room again for the Six Nations if they were lucky, if they were very lucky, and he couldn't take another few weeks of Max blowing hot and cold on him. Maybe it was time to stop moping after him like a dog without its master. Maybe it was time for bed. Nearly Christmas. Nearly time to watch his nieces and nephews' faces light up when they realised Père Noël had visited, nearly time to pretend it was all fine and he enjoyed being the single one around his sister's table. 

 

 

He had just levered himself upright when the doorbell rang. At 11 pm? The day before the day before Christmas? He was far from expecting anyone. Ever so slightly on his guard, he padded over to the door and opened it.   
"Brice, my Brice!" Maxime enveloped him in one of his enormous hugs before Brice had even had a chance to register his surprise. His Brice? It wasn't inaccurate, he mused, as he tried to make sense of the confused mess of feelings that assaulted him as Maxime clung to him.  
"Max? Wh..what are you..?"   
Maxime buried his face in the crook of Brice's neck. "No. I've got you Brice, and 'm not letting you go. No no no," he slurred. 

 

 

So he was drunk. That stung. Did he have to do that every fucking time? He's using you, Brice said to himself. He's using you because he's pissed and he knows you won't say no.   
   
   
"Max, let go. You're drunk," he said, trying to be the grown-up yet again. He tried in vain to prise Max's arms from around his neck. He wouldn't budge.   
"Max, it's freezing. Come on."   
Maxime was shaking with cold, and Brice was starting to feel it himself. Or was it the cold? Was it... Was  _he..._  
"Max... are you crying?" 

 

 

He sniffed. "No 'm not."  
Brice felt something in his chest snap at that, and he gave up trying to persuade Max to release him, ruffling his hair and rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe him. Drunk Max he knew well, very well; crying Max was a Max he'd never met before, not even after two whole years in the same team.   
"It's ok Maxi. It's ok. Come on, let's go inside. Come on." Maxime sniffed again at the 'Maxi'. Brice had taken to calling him that in Agen when they used to stay up late talking and drinking tea in each other's rooms. He never used it in front of anyone else, though; it was for them and them alone. He wasn't sure if Maxime had noticed until he murmured it to him one morning, half-asleep. "You always call me that. I like it."

 

 

 

"Max, come on."   
He might regret this in the morning, but he couldn't think about that now. Maxime let go enough to allow Brice to shepherd him inside and onto his sofa, leaning heavily on him all the way. Brice felt the butterflies flutter in his stomach at the sensation of Maxime's stuttering breath on his neck; he still didn't know what to do with him for the best even as his hands moved to ease Maxime's jacket off his shoulders and arms and let him slump against him and cry into his shoulder. He didn't know what to do even as he murmured all the soothing things he could think of into Maxime's wild hair, as he kissed his cheek and rocked him gently, as he tried not to think of who or what could have reduced him to this state. He'd never seen him cry before; it must be someone special. The thought of someone else in what he thought of as his place made his stomach turn.   
 

 

"'m sorry, Brice, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he choked out between great hiccuping sobs. Some tiny part of Brice thought "About time," at that, but he did his best to squash it and remember that Maxime was his friend, his best friend, before he was anything else, and if he needed Brice, then it was his job to be there for him.   
"Shh, Maxi, it's ok. It's all ok."   
"No, it's not, it's not. God, Brice, 'm sorry, I'm so sorry...I'm such an idiot," he mumbled into Brice's shoulder, tightening his grip around his waist as Brice slid a hand into his hair.   
"No you're not," he admonished gently, scratching the base of Max's scalp where he liked it. "You're my Maxi," he wanted to say, but didn't, because he wasn't, not really. 

 

 

Max pulled away from his grip, wiping distractedly at his face which by now was red and blotchy, and sniffed once, twice, before giving up on not crying.   
"No, I am, and I'm sorry, Brice, I'm really sorry. I'm scared," he said in a tiny voice. Brice was scared, too. This was very new and very scary. Maxime didn't do crying, and he didn't usually do talking about feelings either, and both at the same time had thrown him for a loop. He placed a gentle hand on Maxime's shoulder, as much to ground himself as it was to reassure Max.  
"Maxi, what is it? You can tell me, it's ok." He wasn't at all sure that it was ok, but he thought it might be what Maxime needed to hear. Max wiped at his face, trying to get his breath back between choking sobs. He twisted his arm back and touched his hand to Brice's, hanging his head.   
"Brice," he said, his voice still thick. "Brice. I'm really scared and I _know_  I've been such a dick, oh god, I've been so horrible to you and you don't deserve it, you don't deserve it at all..."  
"Max..." He was beginning to worry about where this was going.   
"You must be really pissed off with me, and now I've just turned up in the middle of the night and you've probably got plans and --"

 

 

"Max, you're drunk. It's not even 11.30, and I'm sat here in my jimjams, look." He brought Max's hand down onto his leg to feel the soft flannel. Maxime laughed, hiccuping, and stretched his fingers out under Brice's like it was the most natural thing in the world for his hand to be there. "It's ok. I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me. I'm listening."  
Max hung his head, pulling his hand away from Brice's. "I'm such a fucking idiot," he slurred, fussing with his hair angrily. "All this way and now I'm too scared to say it." He leaned back on the cushions, draping an arm over his eyes.   
Brice chewed at his lip nervously, unsure of what to do. "Maxi," he said softly, reaching for Maxime's other hand with his shaky one. Max turned to look at him, and looked, and looked, for decidedly far too long for Brice to feel comfortable under his gaze. 

 

 

"I don't deserve you," Max mumbled. Brice had barely heard him and knew instantly that if he asked him to repeat it the conversation would be over very quickly.  
"Don't be silly," he said instead, smiling, and ruffled Max's hair. "You're my best friend. I want you to be ok. You wouldn't have come all this way unless you thought I would help, so you may as well just tell me." Reasoning usually worked well with drunk Max. Better to pretend he wasn't so hugely invested in what he was saying. As long as he didn't say it was someone else. Anything but that, Brice could probably take.  
   
   
Maxime levered himself back up and wiped at his face with the back of his hand. "Can I?" He sounded hoarse.   
"'Course you can." Brice held out his arms and Maxime shuffled over, sliding his arms around Brice's waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder. They'd done this plenty of times when Max was drunk; sooner or later he would always want one of Brice's hugs - "You're so comfy," he usually said. Brice didn't quite dare hold him as close as he normally would; something was definitely still up with Max and he was scared of what it was.   
"Mmmph, feels nice," Max said as Brice started to rub slow, soothing circles on his back.   
"You're nice."   
Maxime giggled. They were falling into an old, practised dance, with moves they'd done dozens of times before. Any minute now would come the, "Can I sleep in your bed?" If he even thought to ask.  
   
"Brice..." Maxime started, suddenly serious again. "I'm really sorry... I've been such a twat. You make me feel too much, too many things. You make me really scared 'cause I dunno what to do, and I...I really  _like_   _you_ , Brice, and I _know_  you like me and you've liked me for longer than 've liked you and I feel bad 'cause I'd only be a twat to you some other time and I don't want to hurt you, 'cause you're my best friend Brice, you're more than my best friend..."   
He curled his arms tighter around Brice and burrowed into the crook of his neck. "You're my Brice," he whispered against his skin. "You deserve better than me. I'm sorry I wasn't talking to you for ages and ages, I just got so scared because every time I think about you I feel like I'm going to burst and, and I can't come without thinking of you and I didn't want this, I didn't want to feel like this about you, but I do. I like you, I _really_  like you. I think I might, might..." His hands balled into fists, clutching at Brice's worn t-shirt.   
 

 

"Might what?"   
Brice was in shock. His hand still moved in slow circles on Max's back, he was still breathing, his heart was still beating, but his brain seemed to have gone on a short holiday until it could take in everything that Max was saying.   
Max sighed. "I might...be... in-love-with-you.  At least, I think. If I'm not now, I will be 'cause I can't seem to stop this, this whatever-it-is with you and I, I...."  
"Maxi, you're shaking."   
He snuffled. "'s probably the booze," he said gruffly, and then, "I'm still scared." 

 

 

"Maxi...?" Brice guided his head up to face him again and took his face in both hands. "Did you mean that? I mean, do you really mean it, you aren't just saying it because you're drunk?"   
Maxime shook his head firmly. "No. I  _am_  saying it because I'm drunk, because I had to get drunker so that I _could_  say it because I'd get too scared. Dutch courage," he said very quietly, reaching up to touch Brice's hand.   
"I'm scared too," Brice murmured. "I'm scared this isn't real and you'll wake up tomorrow morning and act like none of this mattered to you, when it matters to me. I, I - feel." He took Max's hand and pressed it to his heart, which was thump-thumping so hard he thought it might burst out of his ribs at any second. "That...that's how you make me feel, how you've made me feel for months now, and I'm scared too because I've never been like this with anyone before, ok? I don't know what's going on, but I know," he hung his head, embarrassed. "I know how you make me feel," he finished quietly.   
"How... How do you..." Max's fingers twitched over his chest.  
   
"Scared," he said, so softly he could barely hear himself. "But good. Right. Like - like... When you hugged me," he brightened, hoping he could explain it in a way that Max would understand. He took Max's hands in his and held them tight.  
"When I opened the door, and you hugged me... It was like coming home. You don't know how upset I was when you left after Samoa. That Sunday...I got home and I cried and cried because I missed you and I thought you were just always going to act like you didn't feel anything, when we, we'd been together that whole time and you just walked out like it didn't matter, and, and..."  
   
   
It was only when he felt Max hugging him tight again that he realised he was crying.   
"Briiice, 'm so sorry," he snuffled. "Brice, my Brice... I'm sorry. It did matter. I..er...I cried too," he admitted, trying to bury the words in the crinkles of Brice's t-shirt.   
Brice spluttered a laugh. "I didn't think you ever cried," he teased, relaxing into the hug.    
"I was crying in the shower before I left. I didn't know what to do and I didn't want to say goodbye 'cause I didn't trust myself not to be an absolute prick to you, just in case I hadn't done that enough in the three weeks before, y'know..." He giggled. "And then I was drinking 'cause I missed you so much it fucking  _hurt,_ it was - it was like I had a bit missing and I just thought, I should just  _tell you_ , I should stop being such an idiot and just tell you that I like you, that I maybe even, fucking, _love_  you, and so I left and only after I left I thought that you'd be angry with me and I'd made such a  _mess_  of everything and... here we are. This is nice," he finished, burrowing into Brice's shoulder.   
   
   
"Yeah," Brice said, half-laughing. "It is. We've been a bit silly, haven't we Maxi?" His mother hen instinct was starting to kick in; all the better for both of them. "I wanted to tell you how I felt but I didn't think you were interested, and you were - interested, I mean - but you thought I was better off without. Which I'm definitely not, by the way. And even if I am, can you not let me make that decision, hmm?"   
"S'pose," Max grumbled, and hugged him tighter. "I am sorry, Brice. I am."  
"I know, Maxi. It's all right." He ruffled his hair. "It's all ok now. We'll be all right.  As long as you're sure you actually meant it." 

 

 

Max sat back and glared at him.

 

 

"Ok, I believe you." He couldn't think straight, and he couldn't believe him - not until Max had sobered up could he believe him - but he smiled. "Now, we'd better get you some water, hadn't we? I'm not letting you get into my bed drunk."   
A mischievous grin crept over Max's features. "Your bed?"   
"You didn't think I was going to make you sleep on the sofa, did you?"   
"Oh, my Brice, you're so lovely..." Max pulled him to his chest and squeezed him so tightly he could barely breathe. "Don't leave me, Brice," he murmured.  
"Shh, shhh Max," he said, prising himself out of his clutches. "Can you get up the stairs?"  
Max shook his head stubbornly. Brice smiled. Of course he couldn't. He never could. 

 

 

"Come on," he said, easing Max's arm around his shoulder. "Let's get you into bed." He pulled the two of them upright, enjoying the way Max leaned into him so easily. So naturally, as if he were just meant to curve around Brice that way.   
"Into  _your_  bed," Max giggled, as they started up the stairs.   
"Yes, Maxi, into my bed. Unless you want the spare room?"   
"Noooo, no thank you," Max mumbled into his neck. "Want to be with you." He slung his other arm about Brice's waist, clumsily kissing his cheek. Brice sighed, though his stomach was too busy turning somersaults to feel even a flicker of annoyance at how difficult it was becoming to move the two of them up the stairs and into his room.  
"Max...Max, can you -- can y-" Brice gave up trying to direct him and instead allowed Max to lean on him with all his weight. His stomach tingled at the proximity of the thing he'd spent months lusting after. Was it real? he thought over and over. Was this really  _it_? Could it be that simple?

 

 

Did it matter?   
Did it matter, when Max was melded to him like that, when his lips were pressed to Brice's temple, when all he could feel was the heat of Max's body and the scratch of his stubble, when all he could remember was how it felt to wake up with Max beside him?   
 

 

It would matter in the morning, he thought.

 

 

"Here you go, Maxi. Sit down." He eased Max's arms off himself and set him down on the edge of his bed. Max took hold of him by the hips.   
"I missed you, Brice," he slurred, smiling as his fingertips wormed their way under Brice's t-shirt and pressed into his skin.   
"Max..." Brice said firmly, placing his hands over Max's. "I'm not letting you do that while you're drunk, ok? You need to be sober before...before we can...I want to make sure you mean it, before I let you...well," he faltered.   
Max pouted. "But I do mean it. Briiice? I do mean it." How did he even begin to say no to that face? He held Max's hands in his and sat next to him on the bed.   
"I know, I know you do," he tried to reassure him. "And it isn't that I don't want to...far from it, I just...let's wait until tomorrow, ok?" He kissed Max's forehead with as much affection as he dared let himself feel. "Right, little Maxi. I'm going to fetch you a big glass of water, and when I come back I want to see you undressed and in bed, ok?"   
"Giving  _me_  orders now, are you?" he giggled. "All right then." 

 

 

By the time Brice returned, glass in hand, the floor was strewn with items that had until very recently been on Max: in one corner, a sock - the other remained half-off his left foot - in another, one shoe and his jumper, and he was busy tackling the buttons on his shirt with his currently less than nimble fingers. His jeans were loose but decidedly still on. Brice took a deep breath. This was either going to be very silly and giggly or a source of intense frustration; possibly both.   
"Right then," he said, setting the glass down and sitting opposite Max. "Let's get you out of these, shall we?"   
"It's not gone that well, Brice..." Max muttered, laughing to himself at the mess he was in.   
Brice handed him the glass. "Here. Drink," he said. "But not too quickly - you'll only make yourself sick. Let me take care of the rest." 

 

 

With shaking hands, Brice unfastened the buttons on Max's shirt, trying to ignore the urge to stare; that primal instinct that made him want to check whether everything was still in order, still the same as it always was - had any more hair sprouted on his chest? Where were the newest bruises, where were the older ones? Had anyone else left their mark on him in the month they'd been apart? Silly, really, he mused, teasing the shirt back over Max's shoulders, marvelling at the patches of freckles that were scattered here and there about his torso, and folded it carefully; Max when he was sober did like things to be neat.   
 

 

"Stand up."  
"Say please."  
" _Please,_ Max."  
 

 

Sinking to his knees, Brice felt a splash of water hit the top of his head and reached up instinctively to steady Max. He had given him the pint glass he'd taken from the pub in Glasgow and he didn't want to see it break. Though if he were being honest with himself, he'd brought it back for Max anyway. Perhaps veering towards frustrating tonight, then, he thought to himself. He removed the second sock and reached for its partner, folding them in and out on themselves for the morning.   
"Briiice, come back. 'm sleepy." Max yawned loudly, then hiccuped, then laughed. Brice wondered if maybe he weren't delaying the inevitable - after all, if they didn't go to bed then they didn't have to go to sleep, and if they didn't sleep, maybe there wouldn't be any awkward moments come the morning - but he wanted to believe him, he really did. He just...couldn't, not quite. Not yet.   
 

 

"Come on sunshine, let's get these off." He loosened Max's jeans and inched them down his legs, trying again to resist the urge to check that everything was still 'as it should be'. Thinking about it, he really didn't want to know if anyone else had left a mark on him there in the last four weeks. He thought of the last time they'd been together; of how Max had kissed a slow, torturous trail down his stomach, how he'd bitten his skin so hard he'd found teeth marks the next morning, how he'd whispered, "You're mine, you are. Aren't you?" Of how he'd had nothing to say but a breathless " _Yes_ ," back to him. Of how he'd been gone when Brice had woken up. Only in the shower, but in his mind he was already far away. The second they'd settled down to sleep he'd been gone. He tried not to think of that part.  
 

 

"Sit down. Please," he remembered to say, pulling the jeans over Max's feet and folding them up to sit with his shirt. The rest could stay where it was, he thought. Max would just have to gather it up himself.  
"All done," he smiled. "Are you finished?"   
Max had somehow managed to drink the entire contents of the glass, and handed it back to Brice with a smile on his face.   
"All right, clever clogs. Bed. Now. I'll go and fill this up for you," he said, but he couldn't bring himself to be too firm with him. His mind chanted an endless stream of panicked thoughts at him as he padded to his bathroom and back, and somehow they all vanished when he saw Max curled up under his duvet, waiting for him. 

 

"Come to bed, Brice," he murmured drowsily, reaching out for his hand.   
"Hello, you," Brice said softly, kneeling by the bed. He took Max's hand in his and buried the other in his swathe of wild brown hair. I'm scared, he thought. I'm scared you'll have forgotten this by the time you wake up tomorrow morning. He imagined having to explain it all to a hungover Max, having to watch him saunter back out of his life again as if the whole thing had never happened. Please don't do that, he thought.  
What he said was, "Budge up, then." Max shook his head, smiling. "Have it your own way then, Maxi," he sighed, climbing over him in order to worm his way under the duvet with him. 

 

Max turned to face him, giggling. "I missed you, Brice," he said, and kissed him with all the force of the twelve-or-so units of alcohol whirling their way round his bloodstream. Brice wanted to give in to him - or rather, Brice's body wanted to give in to him. How many nights had he lain awake imagining this? Could he really afford to take the risk of rejecting him twice? - but he pushed him away, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder.  
"Maxi, what've I  _just_   _said_?"   
"Not until tomorrow," Max mumbled, looking embarrassed. Brice leaned forwards, pressing their foreheads together.   
"It - isn't - that - I don't - want to," he murmured, kissing him softly between words. "But i just need you not to be pissed. Ok? I just want to make sure you really want to."   
"I  _do_ ," Max whispered, reaching out to curl his fingers into the soft cloth of Brice's t-shirt. "But 'sok. 'm sleepy anyway. Can I...?" he trailed off.   
"'Course you can." 

 

Max shifted across and burrowed into Brice's chest, one arm sliding around his waist under his t-shirt. "Mmm. Missed this. Missed  _you_ ," he said, and it sounded to Brice like he meant it.   
"I missed you too, Maxi. You have no idea how much. Honest, it's been awful not talking to you." There was a lump in his throat again, but he persevered, figuring that if Max was going to forget anyway, he may as well lay it all out in the open. "I missed you so much, and I hated myself for getting so caught up in you, but I just couldn't...I couldn't stop myself. You, you've got this hold on me..."  
"Shhh, Brice," whispered Max, holding on to him tighter. "'sok now. I'm here. 'nd I will remember this tomorrow.  _Promise_."   
Max felt warm, and soft, and his voice and his arm around Brice were comforting, and everything felt very safe and very easy all of a sudden, Brice thought. Entirely unlike the last night they'd spent together. He was still scared inside, but he held Max close and lay very still, listening to the soft sound of his breathing, until he drifted into fitful sleep. 

 

 

 

More than once he woke in a blind panic, expecting to see the bed empty next to him, only to find Max still curled around him, fast asleep. He looked as if he hadn't moved a muscle, though Brice noticed the third time that the glass on the side was half empty, so he must have some time during the night. He inched up onto his elbow to check the clock. 7.20, read the bright red letters. He half wanted to go back to sleep, in order to prolong the time in which he could let himself believe that Max had meant everything he'd said and it would all be fine, but he was hungry, stiff from sleeping in the same position all night, and he didn't dare move in case he woke Max, who was a notoriously light sleeper after he'd had a skinful. He eased himself back down onto the pillow and busied himself waiting for the inevitable. He had a gift for this - waiting for something bad to happen when in reality he'd do better to accept that it was probably for real, this time. 

 

Max snuffled and shifted closer to Brice - if that were possible - in his sleep and Brice felt his stomach fill with gnawing panic. He'd be awake soon.   
" _Please_ ," he whispered, closing his eyes and hoping that this time it would be real. Max stirred.

 

"Mmph...ow," he croaked, pressing his forehead to Brice's chest. "My fucking head. Where are we?"   
Brice felt frozen to the spot. "We're in my house, Maxi," he murmured, his voice sounding hollow. "You turned up last night."  
"Oh." He stiffened for a second, then seemed to relax. "Yeah, we are. I mean, I did. Mmm, you smell nice. Is there any ibuprofen? My head fucking  _hurts_."   
Brice allowed himself one small laugh at that, and scratched the base of Max's scalp softly to soothe his headache.  
"Max, do you er... do you..."  
He wanted to ask, but somehow didn't quite dare, in the end. Now they were here, together, so close they may as well have been one being. Warm, safe, in the half-light of a midwinter dawn, he didn't quite dare break the spell.

 

 

"Yes, Brice," Max croaked, sliding his hand around to sit over Brice's heart, which was thudding loudly in his chest. "I remember. Told you I would, didn'I? Silly Brice."    
"Oh," he breathed, relief washing over him. He felt light-headed suddenly, wide awake. "I'll er... I'll go and find you some." 

 

 

By the time he returned, Max was sitting with his back against the wall, the duvet pulled around him like a blanket, his head resting on his knees.  
"'m cold," he moaned. "Everything hurts."    
Brice chanced a jovial smile at that; Max had a taste for the melodramatic when he was hungover. He knelt before him on the bed, proffering the box and his half-drunk glass of water. "I've got you these. Can I come in?"   
Max half-smiled. "'Course you can," he said, swapping roles just for this once. He lifted his arm, making room for Brice to squeeze in next to him. Brice linked their arms playfully, leaning his head on Max's shoulder.   
"Thanks," Max croaked, gulping down the tablets.   
"You're welcome."   
"I thought I'd be more embarrassed by now,"  he mused, resting his chin on the top of Brice's head. "I mean, I don't know what I was expecting, but I feel ...relieved. I mean, I'm cacking myself, obviously, but I'm... I'm..."  
Brice pressed a kiss to Max's bare shoulder. "I know. I am too. I'm also..." he paused, gesticulating vaguely. "...that you meant what you said. And cards on the table Maxi, I'm still scared too. Really scared. But I'm glad you're here. I'm glad that it wasn't all in my imagination, all those nights in Paris. God, I missed you, Max." 

 

 

"I'm sorry I was such a dick all that time," he heard Max mumble.   
"Shh, don't worry about that now," he reassured him. "You said your piece last night, and I believe you, even if you  _were_ under the influence. I have to. What else is there?"   
"You're too good for me."   
"Don't be silly," he said absently, linking their fingers together. "I like you. I  _really_  like you. That's plenty for me."   
"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Max groaned, clapping his other hand to his forehead. "I said I loved you, didn't I?"   
"I wasn't going to mention that, but you kind of did."  
Max hung his head, flushing pink.   
"It's ok, " Brice said cheerfully. "I didn't really believe that bit. Let's wait a bit for that, shall we?" He nudged Max in the ribs, hoping he'd say it again. Just once. How long would it take him to get up the courage to talk like that again? 

 

 

"Ow,  _Briiiice_. My head," he whined. "Be careful with me."  
"I'm always careful with you. More than you are with me."  
"That's because you know I'm delicate," he smirked. "And I know exactly how much you can take."   
"Maybe not exactly how much..." Brice was a clumsy flirter, and he knew it, burying his head in his knees.  
"Urgh, my mouth tastes like a badger's arse. Mind if I use your toothbrush? If I can get to the bathroom without dying." Max shifted himself out of the duvet bundle and began inching towards the door, clutching his head. His hair was wilder than ever; the right side stuck to his face, the left out at all angles, as though he might have stuck his fingers in a plug socket overnight.   
"Do I get a choice?" He smiled to himself. 

 

 

Brice wrapped the duvet around him like a sleeping bag and settled back down among his pillows. The thought struck him that maybe he was still dreaming, which lit a fire of panic in his stomach. It wasn't fully light yet, he might still be asleep. He listened for the sound of Max cleaning his teeth to try to ground him. He could remember the previous evening in crystal clear detail - Max had cried. He'd  _cried_ , and he'd come all that way to see him. He could remember it, all of it - surely that wouldn't be possible if he were dreaming? He pinched himself, once, twice, and resolved to ask Max to do the same when he came back. Purely in the interest of being scientific. Like the way you were never able to tickle yourself. He must need a second pinch to be certain. He was hungry though, and he could never remember having been hungry in a dream before. He must definitely be awake, then. He'd ask Max just to be sure. He couldn't deal with having to wake up and wait for him to remember - or not remember, as the case may be - again. 

 

"Max, can you pinch me?" he blurted, as Maxime pulled the duvet away from him.  
"Pinch you? I need a bit more kip, I think, love."   
   
Love.  _Love_. He'd called him love.   
   
He was definitely dreaming.   
   
"Can you just pinch me first? I just want to be sure I'm awake."  
"I'll pinch you, all right. I'll pinch you..." He leaned over Brice and poked him once, twice, three times in the ribs, making him yelp.   
"Ow, stop it!" he spluttered, laughing.   
" _You_  said you wanted to be sure..." Max was laughing too, and tickled Brice until he kicked him hard in the shin. "Ow! You little shit."   
"Oh Maxi, I'm sorry... Come here."   
   
Max growled and pulled a face, but he eased into Brice's arms as though he were meant to be there. "Mmmph," he said. "My head."   
"I must be awake, then," Brice murmured into his hair. "In my dreams you don't complain half so much about being hungover." 

 

"Brice," Max croaked, as if a thought had just occurred to him. "Aren't you supposed to be at your sister's? You said..." 

 

This was the conversation he had been dreading. As long as they didn't mention that it was Christmas Eve and they both were meant to be elsewhere and there was no food in his house, then he could believe that they could stay in his bed forever if they wanted to. He didn't want to accept any other possibility just yet. 

 

"Not til tonight, but - I could stay. If you want, that is." 

 

He regretted saying it the second the words had left his mouth. Of course he wouldn't want to stay; he'd have somewhere to be. He was still his parents' little boy, he'd learned that from overhearing their phone conversations in Argentina, and as much as he tried to shrug off that little-boy-lost air he had about him, Brice knew he enjoyed being babied. He'd seen it enough times himself - how many times had he made him hot chocolate when they were away from home so he'd sleep better? How else could he explain the fact that he took three sugars in his tea?  Of course he'd be going home. Of course he would. 

 

Max sighed, shifting to face him. "I'm supposed to be with my parents and all their friends. But I don't really want to go all the way back to Paris and then to Bordeaux to sit and listen to them talking about mortgages and tax brackets. I could... We could - you know..." 

 

"Do you... _want_  to?"   
"I don't want to go," he murmured into Brice's skin. "Not yet. We have to be back at training in two days anyway, and I...I want you all to myself, just for a bit."   
"Don't go, then," Brice whispered back. "Stay. Stay here, with me. I'll cook. Shall I? Or we could both - I mean, I don't --" 

 

He was cut off by Maxime kissing him. "We can both cook," he said, and he smiled. It was the first proper smile from him Brice had seen for a month, and it floored him completely. "You can do the bûche - my stomach remembers you're good at pudding."   
Brice giggled. This was good. Very good. This was better than he could ever have imagined. "Ok," he agreed. "But let's maybe  _not_  tell the fitness guys about this. Or dinner. Or last night's intake, by the look of you."

 

"God, don't remind me," he groaned, scratching his head.   
"Maybe it's mean but I'm glad you did it," Brice said, smiling shyly. "Otherwise we'd be miles apart and both with a right face on instead of just you."

 

Max growled again and burrowed into his chest, one arm curled tightly around his waist. 

 

"Tell you what, little Maxi," he said, before he even knew what he was saying. "You sleep it off. I'll go and get what we need, ok? I'll make us a list so's I don't forget something important." 

 

"Washing powder," Max croaked. "You've not done your laundry for weeks."   
"How do you _know_  that? You've been nowhere near my laundry basket." 

 

"I don't need to be near it to smell it. And I  _know_ ," he sighed. "Because you never do your laundry unless I remind you. And we haven't been speaking, so you won't have done it."

 

That was true. He should have been embarrassed, he thought, but somehow he didn't really mind. "You've caught me. I haven't. But, that doesn't mean I don't have anything to do it with. If anything, I probably will. But anyway, I can't wash anything tonight or tomorrow 'cause it's bad luck."  
Max laughed, looking up at him. "What are you on about? Bad luck..."  
"My grandma always said so. Bad luck to wash your clothes on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day or New Year's Day."   
"Brice, that's an old wives' tale -  nothing will happen to you if you do your washing tonight, I promise you. Except maybe dying all your clothes the wrong colour, knowing you.  
He closed his eyes for a long moment, toying with the idea of revealing why he didn't want to take the risk.  
"That's as well as may be," he said softly. "But now you're here I'd rather not risk any bad luck, thank you very much. Just in case."  
"You're silly." Max kissed his forehead. "But I like you anyway." 

 

"Hmmph. That's not the way to speak to the person who's going to make your Christmas dinner. Anyway, what  _are_  we supposed to cook tonight? I've never done it before."   
"Mmmph, dunno," groaned Max, sounding like he was half-asleep already. "I trust you," he mumbled, pulling Brice's arm around his waist.   
"You're so warm," he said without thinking.  
Max chuckled to himself. "I can be warmer."   
"Steady on, Casanova - I thought you were sleeping it off?" 

 

"I am, 'syou that's keeping me awake."   
Let me die now, he thought. If I go now I can be happy. 

 

"Night night, Maxi." He kissed his shoulder and snuck out of bed. 

 

"Right then, Brice," he said to himself. "Maybe now would be a good time for a phone call to Mum." 

 

 

 

 

 

"Max, I'm home!" he shouted, feeling ridiculous even as he did it. His stomach was turning somersaults, he realised, as he staggered into the kitchen with almost everything that had been on his list. "Max?...Max?" 

 

He's asleep, he told himself. He's fast asleep and he hasn't heard you. That's why he isn't answering. He hasn't gone home. He's asleep.   
The reassurance lasted all of five seconds before he ran up the stairs at full pelt and into his bedroom.   
"Max?" he spluttered in a panic. "Max...?" 

 

His shoes were still there, Brice reasoned, so he couldn't have gone far. Unless he'd taken a pair of his, but his feet were smaller, so that was unlikely. Next on his list was the bathroom - nothing, except for a lingering heat and a lot of steam. Probably a good thing, he told himself.   
On his way back down the hall he noticed something he hadn't the first time - his duvet was missing. That didn't make any sense; unless Max had foregone his shoes and decided to roll himself to the train station inside it. Not entirely beyond his reasoning when he was drunk, Brice pondered, though probably not what he fancied doing this morning.  
   
Beginning to suspect he was being wound up, Brice hopped back down the stairs and resumed his search. The obvious places went first: utility room, laundry basket (Max was right; it was overflowing), under the sink. He wasn't really sure why he was looking under the sink since Max couldn't fit in there even if he'd wanted to, but he obviously wasn't thinking straight and that made any number of things make sense. He took a cursory glance out of the kitchen window, expecting nothing but a few birds, and there he was, on the bench he kept out there for summer. Bundled up, shivering, inside Brice's duvet. His hair was still wet; no wonder he was cold. He'd been there all along.   
   
Feeling the relief wash over him like a warm breeze, Brice poked his head out of the door. "Max! Max?"   
   
"You're back." Max smiled and Brice felt like he was home. Really home, and that scared him. Tiptoeing out over the damp grass, he half-joked, "I thought you'd gone."   
   
"Don't be silly. Where would I go?"   
Brice shrugged, hovering uncertainly by the back door.   
   
"Nah, felt gross when I woke up, and I found your iPod so I took it in the bath with me and then I came out here for some air but it's fucking bitter..."   
"You found my iPod, so you put it  _in the bath_?" He didn't care. He didn't care a bit even if he had, he could have demolished his entire house for all Brice cared because Max was  _there_ , he was still there and as long as he hadn't scarpered, everything would be ok.  
   
"Not  _in_ the bath. I found out what that song is finally, the one you're always humming to yourself."  
   
"I don't hum." Warning bells were sounding in Brice's ears as he sat on the opposite end of the bench. 

 

"Yes, you do. You're always doing it, you were doing it in Argentina and last month - and I finally found out what it is, look." He threw the device over to Brice.  
   
 _All Day and All of the Night - the Kinks_  read the little white screen.  
   
"Oh,  _that."_

 

He was trying entirely too hard to be casual about this. Had he really been humming it out loud all that time? Argentina was the first time they'd  - well,  _he'd_  - well. The first time they'd ever done anything which crossed the boundaries of acceptable displays of affection. He'd been unspeakably, painfully, silently sad when they'd had to part ways after they got back, knowing that Max was going to pack up and move to Paris and he to Castres. There would be no more sharing a room, no more late nights and cups of tea and silly, giggly fights over the last biscuit, and no more cuddles with a sleepy Max, no more bickering over what it was that they were doing and no more listening to Max talking and talking about everything and nothing before falling asleep in his arms mid-sentence and no more vile, early morning kisses and no more Max, full stop. The song had turned up on shuffle one day, when he was pretending not to watch Max change into his not-pyjamas - pyjamas being too childish for him, obviously, not that he ever actually  _slept_  in them - and something had clicked in his head, and that was that. But he hadn't realised he'd be doing it  _out loud_  as well.   
   
"Do I really...? Hmm. It is catchy." Don't blush, Brice, he told himself. Whatever you do, don't blush. "God, it's freezing. Can I come in there?"   
"You can come anywhere you like, love."   
"Max..." He giggled nervously, trying to pass it off as a shiver. He wasn't really ready for all that yet. It wasn't as if they'd _never_  - they very definitely  _had_  - but all this had thrown him for a loop. He felt suddenly strange around Max; like he had when they didn't know each other yet. He had too many questions. Why now? Why him? What had made him decide to come all that way? But he didn't dare to ask any of them yet. He'd tell him in his own time, maybe. 

 

"There's no room, you'll have to sit on me."   
"Max..." He tried and utterly failed to be stern, and found himself being bundled sideways onto Max's lap. This made him unnecessarily nervous. "Have you eaten?" he blurted, for something to say, staring down at his hands.   
"Urgh, no. Can't stomach anything yet. What's up?"    

 

"Nothing." He shrugged, well aware that he was a terrible liar.   
"Brice," Max sighed, pulling him close. "Don't go all weird on me. What is it?" 

 

Brice chewed on his lip, mulling over the pros and cons of telling Max the truth. If he were going to run off anyway...

 

"Is it because you think I'm going to run off again? Is that it?"   
Brice sighed heavily, hooking an arm around Max's neck. "Yeah," he mumbled into his damp curls. "I don't know how I got this lucky... I don't know, I don't want to go all clingy on you, it's just... you live in Paris. And I live here, and I don't want to be happy for two days and then be sad again for I don't know how long. I don't know if you'll just forget about me again when you go home." He closed his eyes, and waited for Max to say something. He half-expected him to be angry.

 

"I never forgot about you," said Max in a tiny voice. "I thought about you all the time. All the time."   
"Wh..why didn't you say anything? I didn't know. I just thought you put me out of your mind."  
"Because I was too busy being a dick about it." He sounded exasperated. "Look, Brice, we can talk about this later, can't we? Can you please just trust me that I'm here because I want to be? We can sort all that out later. It's freezing, and I'm starving, and so are you." 

 

"No 'm not," he mumbled, feeling a smile starting to crease the corners of his mouth.   
"Yes you are," Max wheedled. "I could hear your stomach rumbling as soon as you came outside."   
"Mmm, okay. Maybe we shouldn't talk about anything serious until we've eaten. But, Maxi..." he trailed off, hugging Max tight. 

 

"I know," Max sighed. "I know. But we'll be all right, love. We will."   
"You sound like my mum," Brice giggled.   
"Your mum's a wise woman."   
"She is. I wouldn't have a clue what to do tonight if she hadn't told me." 

 

Max seemed to be recovering more and more of his usual self. "It's not like we haven't done this before, Brice.."   
"No, for  _dinner_ ," he laughed, poking Max in the ribs. "Max. Honestly..." 

 

Brice found himself relaxing, bit by bit, inch by inch. He could do this, probably. If he weren't so cold, he could have stayed there all day and night, just the two of them. He could have taught Max all the constellations he'd memorised as a child. The scent of his hair he found oddly comforting; nothing had changed. Everything had changed. He felt drowsy all of a sudden, as though most of his worries had melted away. 

 

"You're doing it now," Max said, bouncing him on his leg to get his attention.  
"Mmm?"   
"The humming. You're doing it now."

 

Brice froze, his lips still pressed to Max's curls. "Only because you put the idea in my head," he spluttered. "I'm sure I don't do it normally."   
"You definitely do," teased Max, circling his arms tighter around Brice's waist.   
   
"Oh shit, I  _do_ , don't I?" He felt himself blushing as he tried to bury his face in Max's hair, trying to laugh to hide just how painfully embarrassed he was.  
Max just laughed. "Yes. Yes, you do. If you're not doing it, something's usually up with you."   
   
"Ohh..." Brice very badly wanted the earth to swallow him up. This was too much. His cheeks had flushed a delightful shade of rosy pink. "Max...?" he asked, the butterflies back in his stomach.   
"Yes, Brice."  
"Can we please finish this cuddle inside? I can't feel my toes."   
"Ooh, I thought you'd never ask. Come on."

 

Brice suddenly found himself hoisted over Max's shoulder. "Max, put me down! Put me down, you dick." he spluttered, trying to kick him somewhere not-too-soft.  
"You're fine, you weigh nothing," Max groaned, pretending to buckle under his weight. He deposited him unceremoniously on his sofa.   
"Ow, my ribs. You're horrible, you are," he pouted up at Max, rubbing at his chest. 

 

Max just laughed. He could get used to the sound of that laugh filling his house. 

 

"Oh, budge up. I'm too hungover for this much excitement."   
He moved over obediently and let Max guide his head onto his lap, spreading the duvet out over him.   
"Mmm, this is nice," he said absent-mindedly, closing his eyes and stretching his fingers out over Max's thigh. He thought he heard Max say, "I missed you," but he must have imagined it. Sober Max didn't say things like that.  

 

 

"Ow,  _bastard_!"   
Brice woke with a start. What was he still doing on the sofa? He looked to his kitchen, where Max was busy shaking his hand, as if that would dispel the sudden pain he'd caused himself. "Did you cut yourself?" he mumbled, still drowsy.  
   
Max squinted at his hand. "Yeah." Then, "Oh shit, you're awake." He looked embarrassed.   
   
Brice rubbed at his eyes, stifling a yawn, and got to his feet. "What were you doing?"   
"I was  _trying_  to get dinner ready while you were asleep." Max blushed. "Sort of 'thank you for having me even though I turned up blind drunk and unannounced' kind of thing." 

 

Brice laughed, because he didn't know what else to do. "Am I actually awake?" he wondered. Maybe he needed Max to pinch him again. On second thought, maybe the sound of Max whimpering as he tried to patch himself up was enough to convince him.  
   
"Well, you're lucky that knife was sharp," Brice murmured, taking the antiseptic from Max's non-injured hand and dabbing at the cut.   
"Was I? Fucking  _oww_."  
"You are a terrible patient, Maxi. Have I ever told you that?"  
   
"You love it really..." Max eased his arms around Brice's waist, his patched-up hand barely resting against his back,  leaning against him. Brice made a non-committal sound to try to disguise the smile that had somehow crept over his face without him even noticing. He frowned.   
   
"What's that noise?" 

 

Max smiled to himself. "I did your washing, since I had time on my hands."  
"Oh, but Max, it's bad luck -" Brice caught himself before he could go any further, sensing Max laughing into his chest.   
   
"It's me that did it, so if there's any bad luck to be had, it'll be on my head. Okay?"   
 "Okay," Brice grumbled, burying his nose in Max's mop of hair. "Mmm, you smell like me." 

 

"Brice...?" Max mumbled into his shirt.   
"Mmm?"   
"You know that thing I said last night?"

 

"You said a lot of things last night, Maxi. You might have to be a bit more specific."   
"You know which one I mean, Brice. I meant it. I just..." he sighed. "I just wanted to say, because I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be tonight." He squeezed Brice tight, burrowing his head into his shoulder.

  
"Oh," Brice murmured, still not sure whether he'd heard him properly. "Are you..." He wasn't sure he should finish his question tonight of all nights, but somehow it tumbled out of his mouth anyway without any regard for the occasion.

"Are you trying to tell me that you love me?"

 

Max coughed. "Think I might be, you know." 

 

"Max... I..." He couldn't say anything. He knew he had that weird, horrible, wonderful feeling inside him, had done for months, but the words felt stuck in his throat. 

"What?" Max stepped back a pace, his brows knitted together. 

 

Brice felt tears pricking his eyes. "I'm sorry, I just... This is a lot to take in, you know. Nothing for a whole month, and then now you're here, and you've told me that, that thing, twice now, and I don't know, I just - I think I must still be dreaming." He half-laughed, covering his face with his hands. He was fully aware of how ridiculous he must seem. 

 

"I know, and I'm sorry." Max linked his arms around Brice's waist and pulled them close together again. "We said we weren't going to do this tonight, didn't we?" he laughed. "But it's ok," he said, kissing Brice's cheek and turning back to the chopping board. "It's ok if you can't say it. It's not like I haven't known for months anyway." 

 

"Am I that transparent?" 

 

Max leaned against the counter and held out his hand for Brice to take. "Nah. I just know you too well. Why d'you think I panicked before? It was scary. Every time I caught your eye in Paris you'd give me this huge smile and I knew it was because of me and I couldn't handle it. I just couldn't." He shrugged, staring at the floor, as if to say, 'that's all'.  

 

"Sorry," Brice mumbled out of habit. 

 

"Come on." Max smiled. "Get your apron on. Let's sort out this poule au pot or whatever it is." He squinted at Brice's scribbled notes. "This looks like a spider's walked across the page, Brice." 

 

"I was in a rush. Like yours is any better," he retorted, fetching his long, navy apron out of the cupboard. He felt better with it on; like putting on a mask. He could concentrate better now. 

"Oh, look at you." Max clapped a hand to his mouth to stifle his giggles. "Look. at. you." 

 

"Why do you always laugh at my apron?" he bristled. "It keeps things clean. Some of us like to keep things clean, Maxi," he finished pointedly, glancing around at the mess Maxime had managed to scatter about his kitchen. 

 

"You can talk. Hey," he smiled, pulling Brice to him by his hands. "I think you look kind of nice." He slid his hands around Brice's hips and kissed him, the two of them leaning against the counter. How had Brice survived for so long without this? He could have stayed there all night, had he not been so scared of the rush of feeling that overwhelmed him when Max's fingers got anywhere near his bare skin. He thought he might be about to burst. 

 

"Max..." he sighed, inching reluctantly out of his grip. "Max, we have to - "

"We don't have to do anything, Brice..." Max cajoled. 

"I'm  _starving_ ," Brice whined. 

"So am I. But I want you more." 

 

"Hmm...you're very persuasive, Maxi..." Brice murmured, just as his stomach rumbled rather loudly. "Ohh." He frowned, as Max traced a line between his brows with a fingertip. 

"Maybe we do have to eat," he said with a smile. "But just you wait. Just, you, wait, little Brice." 

"I don't want to," Brice giggled, and kissed him one last time. "Now. Are you okay doing this while I do the buche?" 

Max nodded confidently. "I definitely won't hurt myself again. Capitaine." He gave him a somewhat half-hearted salute. 

 

Five minutes later, as Brice was bent over trying to reduce the flour in the scales by three grams more - it could make all the difference and he liked to be precise - he heard the sound of Max stifling a laugh across the room. Righting himself, he fixed him with what was intended to be a hard stare. 

"And what's so funny?"   
Max coughed, trying to hide his giggles. "You're doing it again." 

 

Brice felt a rush of heat colour his cheeks. "You just concentrate on what you're doing, all right?" he blustered. 

"What are  _you_  doing?" Max countered. "That doesn't look very much like a bûche to me." 

 

"Never you mind, Maxi. You'll find out soon enough." 

 

It took them three hours to get dinner on the table, by which time they had both eaten their fair share of raw vegetables and odd bits of fruit left in the bowl and whatever else they could get their hands on, but it was worth it. 

"Oh god, Max..." Brice felt himself saying. "This is... this is _just_..."

 

"It's not that nice, is it?" Max looked up at him with a completely straight face, fork halfway to his mouth. 

"Right now Max, this is the nicest thing I've ever eaten. Ever. Oh my god..." 

 

"Ooh, it's _not_ bad..." Max said with his mouth full. "I was convinced I was going to cock it all up and we'd have nothing to eat." He smiled lopsidedly at his own success. 

"Don't be silly." Brice kicked him under the table. He meant it to be affectionate, but it was accidentally too hard, and Max winced. "I'd have eaten it anyway. I'm  _starving_ ," he added quietly. 

"You flatter me." Max rolled his eyes and kicked him back, but he was soon smiling again, reaching out across the table for Brice's hand. 

 

"Max, I love you and everything, but I really need both hands to eat just now..."  
Max had laughed and squeezed his hand very tightly before he realised what he'd said. 

"Hey, if that's what it takes for you to say it..." Max shrugged and picked up his fork again.  

"You  _know_  I-" Brice started, embarrassed. 

"I know." Max unleashed one of his biggest smiles on him. "I'm not complaining." 

 

They ate until they felt far too full to move a muscle, stealing furtive glances at one another over their plates, hardly pausing except to smile, or giggle, or take a sip from Brice's one remaining wine glass. The other lay in the bin in many pieces, thanks to Max's clumsy fingers. Brice couldn't bring himself to be annoyed. In truth, he was too nervous about how his pudding was going to go down; never mind the present he'd had hidden deep inside his wardrobe for a month. But the wine was starting to go to his head, and he couldn't take the waiting any longer.

"Oh, what's that under the tree? It looks like Père Noël has been while we were eating, Maxi."

Max was slumped in his chair, both hands over his stomach. His head lolled to one side to look under the sparsely decorated tree. On seeing the parcel, his face sat somewhere between a frown and a laugh.

"What is this...?" he groaned. "Is this you?" 

 

Brice put on his most innocent face, the one he needed to pull out in order not to burst into childish giggles.

"I don't know; why don't you have a look?" 

"Brice..." Max was doing his best to conceal his curiosity and put on a serious face; Brice knew, though, as he watched him pick up his neatly-wrapped bundle from under the tiny tree and bring it back to the table. "What is this, Brice?" 

 

Brice just smiled. "I have no idea, Maxi. You'll have to open it and find out."

  
"Brice, I know this is from you..." Max was laughing, and Brice wished he could bottle that sound for whenever he felt sad, because it lifted his heart like nothing else. He couldn't help but giggle too; something about Max's face brought it out in him.  
"No, you don't." He was giving himself away, but it was far too much fun to stop now. 

" _Brice_..." 

"Read the tag."

Max opened it and frowned. "To Maxime. Merry Christmas. Stay warm. From Père Noël." 

"See?" Brice smiled. 

"But how did you know it said that?" shot back Max, his smile widening. 

 

Brice flushed. "Just open it, would you?" 

"Okay, okay..." Max peeled back the corners one by one, purposely taking his time, not wanting to rush anything and no doubt doing it because Brice was increasingly fidgeting in his seat. Brice watched his face intently, looking for any signs of pleasure or displeasure, but all he found was a widening, shy smile and a look of wonder. 

 

"Brice..." Max murmured, tentatively burying his hands inside the thick woollen scarf. 

 "You always get ill because you forget your scarf," Brice babbled, his nerves overcoming him suddenly. "So I thought you'd appreciate it because that way you get to stay warm, and you like soft things, and it will go nicely with your proper coat when you remember to wear it...and I get to see you wearing it and you look.. nice, like that," he finished weakly. 

 

"Brice, did you find this for me  _today_?" Max was still staring down at the scarf, touching the wool with his fingertips. 

Brice bit his lip. He could lie, but what would be the point?

"No," he admitted shyly, his voice so quiet he could barely hear himself. "I've had it for a few weeks now." 

 

"Oh, Brice..." 

Max picked up the scarf and sat unceremoniously on Brice's lap. He smiled that beautiful smile, and laughed, and laughed, and began winding the long, navy scarf around the two of them, tying them together, and then... And then he pressed his lips to Brice's, and Brice forgot how to speak, or move, or do anything that wasn't kissing him back. "Thank you," Max sighed against his skin, holding him tightly. "Thank you." 

 

Brice found himself smiling wider than he had in weeks. "You're welcome, Maxi.”

“Although I must warn you,” he added. “There's something else... As much as I want you to sit here all day and night, you'll never get your present or your pudding if you do, so the choice is yours." 

 

"Hmm," Max sighed, burying his face in Brice's neck. "I think I'll keep you here for another few minutes first." His hands slid slowly under Brice's shirt, tracing a line up along his spine with his fingertips. Brice shivered; Max knew him inside out and back to front, and more than that, he knew exactly what drove all the sense from his mind. 

 

"I didn't get you a present," he whispered mournfully into Brice's neck. 

" _You're_  my present," Brice whispered back, squeezing him tighter. Max laughed. 

"Mmm, you smell ever so nice, Brice. _My_ Brice." He nuzzled him with a contented sigh.

 

"All yours," Brice sighed, before he realised what he was saying. 

"You will be," Max mumured into his ear, and laughed. It sounded heavy with promise and anticipation and quite despite himself, Brice began to think that going to bed without pudding wouldn't be too bad at all. 

"What's this other thing, then?" Max asked, unwinding the scarf from around them and wrapping it around his neck until he was nothing but a mess of curls and eyes and nose. Brice smiled. He looked just as he'd imagined in it.

"You wait there, Maxi." 

 

His heart pounding, he went back into the kitchen and fussed for the final time over his precious bûche, and arranged his other gift so that they looked something approaching pretty on the plate around it. The rest were packed up already for Max to take back to Paris. Back to Paris. He didn't want to think about that just yet.

 

"Close your eyes, Maxi," he called through. "No looking - I know what you're like."   
"They're closed. Promise," Max called back, in a tone which suggested he would definitely be peeking before Brice had even set the plate on the table. He inched into the room backwards, in an attempt to keep Max from seeing anything. 

"Eyes closed," he reminded him sternly, keeping one eye on Max's hands, expecting the fingers to splay any second. But they didn't; they remained firmly and resolutely closed tight. 

"Okay... You can open them." He crossed his fingers behind his back, leaning from foot to foot next to the table. 

 

Max took his hands away, and grinned. "Brice," he said, in a voice filled with delight and trepidation. "Are these what I think they are?" 

"Depends what you think they are." He sat himself down opposite Max, his crossed fingers still held behind his back. He was being ridiculous, that he knew; but he couldn't help it. Max picked up one of the biscuits and turned it over in his hands to find the dark chocolate underneath, his smile widening. 

"They  _are_... Oh, _why_ am I so full? Is that what you were doing all that time instead of the bûche?" 

Brice nodded shyly. "Do you like them?" 

 

"Do I  _like_  them? Brice, the only thing wrong with this is that I am far too full to eat any of it." Tentatively, he swiped his index finger at the filling of the bûche and licked it clean. 

"Oh my god, Brice, this filling is just.... oh my god. What did you _do_  to it?"

"Cinnamon. And a bit of nutmeg. You forget, I know exactly what you like, Maxi." His fingers uncrossed behind his back. 

  
"Are you having some? 'Cause I can't eat anything, I really can't, even though I just want to eat all of these right now because I can barely remember how they taste except that it's _amazing_ but oh my god, my stomach. Please don't make me eat any more, Brice." 

 

Brice laughed, and clutched at his own bulging stomach. "Oww. It's your own fault. And no, I'm not having any. I can't face any more food until at least tomorrow, maybe the day after." 

 

Max giggled, and that mischievous look crept across his features. "Surely you can manage a bit...?" he wheedled, swiping his finger at the filling again and reaching across the table to lift it to Brice's lips. 

"Max, no... We are not doing this. I am full."

 

"I think you'll find we are," he said in that irritating sing-song voice he had when he was trying to make Brice flustered. "Go on, you know you want to... It's really nice, I promise." 

 

"I _know_ it is. I made it. Do you think I did that without knowing how it t- Mmm! Stop!” 

 

Brice reflexively sucked the cream filing from Max's fingertip, unsure of which was more enjoyable; tasting the fruit of his labours or the sight of Max looking over as though he were hungry for him.

 

“See, I knew you could manage just a tiny bit.” Max was smug, while Brice pouted at him over the table.

“Oh Briiiice,” he sighed. “Brice, Brice, Brice... don't make that face.”

 

Max scrambled up from his chair and around the edge of the table to throw his arms around Brice's neck, showering kisses on his hair and face.

“Don't make that face, Brice...” he warned. “If the wind changes, you'll stay like that.”

 

It was something Brice took great pleasure in telling him whenever he yawned without covering his mouth, and he laughed to hear it repeated back to him. He took Max's hand and leaned back to press a kiss to the inside of his neck. Max smiled.

 

“What do you say,” he suggested gently. “That we take this dessert and the rest of the wine...to bed?”

Brice spluttered with laughter. “Are you drunk again, Max?”

 

“No,” Max grinned back. “But it is nearly midnight and it is Christmas Eve...and I can't eat another thing but after what I have planned that might not be a problem.”

 

“Oh? You should know that you'll have to roll me up the stairs... I am  _stuffed_ ,” he sighed dramatically. “But...okay, then.”

 

 

But by the time they tumbled into bed, Brice was complaining of feeling sick from carrying the – almost – untouched bûche and wine up the stairs on top of his swollen stomach, and was in no mood for whatever Max might have had in mind. He pulled on his pyjamas sulkily and flopped back onto the bed with a groan.

 

“Oh, shush,” chided Max. “Here, lie down properly. You'll be all right in a minute. Let me look after you for a change.”

 

“Owww, Maxi. Stooop,” he whined, as Max tried to soothe his nausea by rubbing circles over his stomach. He wriggled about in the bed until he found himself on his left side and curled into a ball. “It  _hurts_.”

 

“Oh, Brice...” Max shifted until he lay directly behind Brice, every bump and curve pressed against his body, and tucked his head in against Brice's hair. "You smell like me," he murmured, surprised. 

"No, you smell like me." Brice pouted. "You used my things."

“Is this okay?” he asked gingerly, resting a hand at Brice's hip, not daring to go anywhere near his stomach again.

Brice let out a non-committal, “Hmm,” which Max took as encouragement, and slid his hand carefully around to rest low over Brice's belly.

“Hmm,” Brice mumbled again, the tension slowly beginning to flow out of his body.

 

“I'll stay here until you feel better, all right?” He lifted his head to nuzzle Brice's neck, and pressed a lingering kiss to the soft patch of skin behind his ear. 

"You'll fall asleep on me, and I'll be all on my own." Brice was still sulking. 

"No, I won't. I promise. I'm not going to sleep easily after all that food..." 

"Can you not mention food please?" 

"Sorry, Brice." Max giggled and immediately regretted it. "Oww. This isn't really how I would have chosen to spend my first Christmas with you, to be honest."

He felt Brice smile. "First?" he asked shyly. Max felt his face redden with embarrassment. He said nothing.  

"It's perfect," sighed Brice, sliding his hand over Max's and linking their fingers together. "Because you're here, and I love you, and I waited so long for this it couldn't be anything else." He squeezed Max's hand and Max saw a small smile cross his face and felt like his chest was constricting. How could one person be so - how could he mean so much to him, already? He was in a mess. But he was beginning not to care at all, although his body told a different story; his chest filled with sudden panic and his stomach churned. The weight of so much expectation and affection felt heavy on his shoulders, although when he looked back at Brice's smile, he began to think he could bear anything. Anything, as long as he could always be the object of that smile, that smile that lit up his face and the entire room and forced Max to smile back whether he wanted to or not. It was worryingly addictive, being with Brice, really being with him; he'd been there twenty-four hours and was beginning to wonder how he would cope back in Paris, alone. But he couldn't say any of those things now. They could have their perfect day for a while longer.

"I... I love you too," he whispered, leaning back for a moment to check the clock. 00:03.

"Merry Christmas..." He kissed Brice's cheek softly, squeezing their hands together.

"Merry Christmas, Maxi. I'm happy you're here."

"Mmm... I'm happy I'm here, too. If I'd known I was going to get spoilt I'd have turned up sooner."

 

"Don't push it." Brice pretended to scowl.

 

"You know I don't mean it, little Brice." Max nuzzled him again, pressing tiny, feather-light kisses into his neck, and Brice sighed contentedly.

 

"I wish I could have you here all the time."

 

"I wish I could be here all the time."

 

They remained in that position, lying as close as they could possibly be to one another, talking of memories from childhood Christmases and hoping in their hearts that this wouldn't be the first time they would spend this night together. The future was something they wouldn't speak of, even in the morning, but then, at the witching hour, it was as if spell had been cast over them and their imaginations had licence to run wild. Eventually the talk began to calm Brice, who was smiling more and more, a sure sign he was feeling better, and the two of them drifted into peaceful sleep, still whispering to each other.

 

Christmas morning however, was different.

 

Brice sighed happily as he woke to the sensation of Maxime still curled behind him with a hand still over his belly; under his pyjamas, next to the skin. He choked back a little shiver of delight, inching onto his back, whereupon Max sleepily re-arranged himself about him, his head lying on Brice's shoulder and his hand moving lower, lower down his belly until it rested just below his embarrassing, first-thing-in-the-morning erection.

 

"Mmm," Max growled. "You're pleased to see me. Or is it just something in your pocket?"

 

Brice chuckled to himself. "You know I can't help it. But I am pleased to see you." He kissed Max's forehead, lingering a while to inhale the scent of his hair. Max fluttered a swirl of kisses over Brice's neck in response and he shivered.

 

"How are you feeling?" Max croaked. "Better, I hope."

 

"Much better," Brice agreed. "But still not too energetic, I'm afraid."

 

"You disappoint me," Max sighed, nipping at his collarbone. "But never mind. There's something I can't wait to watch you do for me."   
Brice felt himself blush. The words 'watch' and 'for me' often had that effect on him. "Oh?" he asked airily. "And what might that be?"

 

Max smiled against his skin. "Bathroom first. Then I'll tell you."

 

It was the first time they had ever succumbed to any kind of morning routine, and Brice was secretly pleased and terrified to have something so normal and so innocent become part of his lexicon of memories of Max. Suppose things went wrong, and he'd have to remember this morning forever whether he wanted to or not? He dwelt on this thought for a while, as he waited for Max to return from the bathroom, but tried to put it to one side once Max slipped back under the duvet.

 

"Take those pyjamas off, Brice," he murmured sleepily, resting one arm possessively over Brice's stomach. Brice sighed, but did as he asked, lying down again without a stitch on.   
"I didn't ask for that...but I'm not complaining." Max smiled, shifting closer to him, so close his mouth was next to Brice's ear and the hand that had been over his stomach rested over his chest, fingers splayed wide.

 

"I missed you, Brice," he whispered, in that soft voice that made Brice weak at the knees. "I want you to do something for me."

 

He paused for a moment to let Brice wonder what it was, although he was beginning to suspect that he already knew, and felt himself flush at the thought.

 

"I want to watch you touch yourself for me."   
Brice flushed redder than ever. He'd never done  _that_  in front of Max before.

 

"But, I - " he blustered.   
"No buts," interrupted Max. "I want to watch you, so you'll do it. I want to sit over your hips and watch your face flush from up there, but if you're shy...?"   
Brice nodded furiously.  
"Maybe I can let you off this time. I'll stay here. I can talk to you better from here." Brice heaved an internal sigh of relief.

 

"Here, hotch up. Let me in."   
Brice sat up, confused, and allowed Max to sit behind him and make a nest of pillows for them to lean back against. He wrapped his arms around Brice's waist and kissed a soft line across his shoulders.

 

"I think here will be just fine for today," he concluded.

 

"W-what do you want me to do?" Brice stammered, surprised by his nerves.

 

"I want you to show me how you touch yourself, when I'm not here. I want to watch you," Max explained, running one hand over the inside of Brice's thigh, enjoying watching him harden against his belly.

 

Brice gave himself a moment to succumb to his nerves. He could say no, but was surprised by how much he didn't want to, how much he wanted to do exactly as Max asked, no matter how red he blushed. And so he tentatively wrapped a hand around himself, gasping quietly at the sudden rush of feeling. Max continued to torture him with slow, soft strokes of his fingertips down Brice's thighs, and soft words murmured into his ear.   
"That's good, Brice... Carry on. I want to watch you. I want you to make yourself come for me."

 

Brice sighed, arching back against Max and groaning quietly as he began to stroke himself. The feeling of being watched was only heightening everything he felt, and he was torn between going as slowly as possible to make the moment last, and the rush of desire that told him that he needed to come,  _now_. 

 

Max's breathing was growing heavier against his ear.   
"You look every bit as perfect as I imagined you, Brice..."

 

"You...thought about this?" Though he tried his hardest, Brice's desire was winning and his rhythm took pace as Max's fingers wound a path higher and higher along his thighs, pressing into his skin.

 

"All the time," Max hissed. "You look so pretty like that with your eyes closed and your cheeks flushed. You make me want to do all sorts of things to you..."

 

Brice smiled, gasping for breath. "Like what?"

"Like... I want to be the one touching you. I want that flush in your face to be for me and only me. I want to bite your thighs and suck your cock until you scream my name. I want to - "

 

" _Oh_..." 

 

"I want you to come for me, Brice."

 

Brice was lost, seconds away,  and as Max pressed his lips to his ear and whispered, "Come for me, my Brice," he shuddered and gasped, coming suddenly over his hand and stomach, murmuring Max's name over and over to himself.

He slumped back against Max, nestling his head into the crook of his neck, a small smile playing about his lips.

 

"Was that what you wanted?" he asked lightly, very aware of Max's cock hard against his back. He heard Max laugh softly and felt him hold him even closer.

 

"That was just... you are just incredible, Brice." Max seemed flustered. It was nice to see, and even nicer to feel that he had been the one responsible for it.

 

  
   
"What now?" Brice said aloud. "Because I think.... I think I'd like to watch you do that for me."  
"Oh," Max laughed. "Would you now?"  
   
"Yes. Please."  
   
“Oh, come on Brice... I need a little more encouragement than that.”   
   
Brice laughed, and forgot about how exhausted he felt as he turned and straddled Max's lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing all the breath out of him. Max sighed and moaned and melted into Brice's arms, surprising himself with his willingness to give up control and let himself be dictated to. Something about Brice taking what he wanted made him want to give himself up to him completely. A scary prospect; it wasn't as if they'd never touched each other before, but that morning it all felt new, different, like they were really seeing each other for the first time. Like he'd woken up from a dream to find that it was real and each new, wonderful touch had to be savoured. Yes, he thought. He would do whatever Brice wanted, forever.

 

Brice broke away and pressed his forehead to Max's, their breathing rapid and shaky.  
"Lie down, Maxi," he panted. "I want to watch you."

 

He climbed off Max's lap to give him room to move, adding,  
"Oh, and you can take those off while you're at it," gesturing to Max's last stitch of clothing.

 

Blushing, Max stood up and obediently removed them, feeling horribly exposed but enjoying the way Brice smiled up at him from the pillows. He patted the sheets next to him.

 

"Lie down."

 

Max did as he was asked, pulling the duvet up to his chin out of a sudden, inexplicable shyness.

 

"Now, now, Max... I don't think so." Brice glided one hand down Max's chest, dragging the duvet back with it as their lips met again. Brice kissed him like he believed he'd never get another chance to, and the feeling of being desired so strongly was going to become addictive, he felt quite sure. It was partly that which had kept him going back for more in Paris; Brice had wanted him more than anything, and when Max was drunk and lonely, that went to his head.

 

Brice's hand rested over Max's belly, on the softest, most sensitive part of bare skin that made him make the most wonderful sounds when you touched it at the right moment.   
"Touch yourself for me, Max," Brice hissed into his ear. "Now."

 

"I could get used to you doing this." Max hardly dared to grasp himself under Brice's gaze, but he did; gingerly at first, running his fingertips up and down his cock until he thought he might be driven mad with frustration, and finally wrapping a fist tight around the base of him. It took all his strength to take it slowly, for Brice, who was beginning to warm to his new role and had begun asking questions, nipping at Max's neck and tracing meaningless shapes over his chest.

 

"Do you really think about me?"

 

Max nodded, his face flushing bright red. "All the time," he choked out.

 

"Even when you're doing this?" asked Brice, smile widening.

 

" _Especially_  when I'm doing this."

 

"Tell me what you think about."

 

Max flushed harder, though the sound of Brice's heavy breath at his ear made him want to tell him every single thought he'd ever had about him.

 

"Paris," he breathed. "All those nights in your bed. The first time you ever let me fuck you... It's your face, fuck, I remember your face so clearly, and the way you said my name like that, over and over like I was the only thing you wanted. It's the way you look at me like I'm the most precious thing in the world..." His rhythm had slowed to a stop and Brice was staring down at him.

 

"You are," Brice whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly. "You are the most precious thing in the world. You're my Maxi..." He paused for a moment, a mischievous smile creeping over his features.   
"Carry on."

 

Max sighed, his rhythm gathering pace again. Brice's fingers were dancing patterns up and down his thighs and hips and he growled, low in his throat.

 

"Oh, do you like that Max?"  
Max laughed, arching his back against the sheets. "Yes...yes."

 

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Brice murmured into the hollow of his shoulder. "Tell me what you want me to do."

 

"I - I thought you were in control," Max spluttered.

 

"I didn't say I would  _do_  it," Brice replied. "But I want you to tell me. In detail."

 

Max closed his eyes and let his mind lose itself to the fantasy he'd re-lived over and over since they'd separated that last Sunday.

 

"I want you to... pin me against the wall like you did that last Saturday night, in Paris. I want you to kiss me again like you did that night, like you're so desperate to taste me, and I want you to undress me, and kneel in front of me, and I want... I want you to suck my cock again, like you did. Like you're hungry for me, like you need me to come as badly as I want to, and I want - I - oh, oh Brice, Brice -" Max shook and cried out as he came, barely aware of Brice fluttering kisses over his neck and shoulders as he slowly sank back into reality.

 

"How did I ever live without you?" he sighed, touching a hand to Brice's hair.

 

"I love you," Brice whispered into his ear, nuzzling him and showering his wild hair with kisses. "That was..  you look... you look so good when you're like that."

 

Max giggled. "Maybe we can do some more of it before the day is out. And...I love you too, you know. I know I've been shit, but I do... I do love you. So much."

 

"I know, I know... it's okay." Brice reassured him, pulling him close. "It's all okay now. Go back to sleep, little Maxi. It's still early."

 

"I don't want to," Max mumbled into Brice's chest. "I don't want to miss any of you."

 

"I promise you can catalogue every single inch of me later." Brice stifled a yawn. "Let's have a little sleep, mmm? We've got time. I've got you. I've got you. Merry Christmas, Maxi."

 

But Max was already fast asleep.   
"I love you," Brice repeated, stroking his hair before settling himself down to sleep, his chin resting on Max's hair. They had time. 


End file.
